


Snapshots of Disorder

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, M/M, Mania, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Relationship(s), Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of the disorder that is as much a part of their relationship as Pete and Patrick themselves.  </p><p>  <i>It doesn't matter how you feel.<br/>Life is just a Ferris wheel.<br/>It's always up and down,<br/>Don't make a sound.<br/>When you wake up the world will come around.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots of Disorder

Patrick tugged on the elbow of Pete's jacket, leaning forward to talk in his ear. "It's time to go."

The older boy shook his head emphatically, his entire body continuing to bounce with the music. He didn't even look at Patrick. "No. I don't want to."

The singer groaned inwardly. He knew this would happen. He had said they could go, but they had to be back by a certain time because they had to be at the airport tomorrow. "Pete, we need to go. We have an early flight."

"So we'll change it." Pete wiggled his arm to shake it free of Patrick's hand and disappeared into a passing group of people without another word.

\---

Pete was behind the couch in the basement when Patrick found him. He had his hood pulled up and earphones in, knees pulled to his chin and his eyes closed. His arms were wrapped around his legs and it looked, to Patrick, like he was literally the only thing holding himself together at that moment.

When the younger boy reached out to touch his arm, Pete opened his eyes and he immediately moved forward, crawling into Patrick's lap and hiding himself in the warmth there. He cried and he didn't say what was wrong and the music softly playing out of his discarded earbuds was sad and distorted. 

\---

Patrick went to bed alone, again, at four in the morning. When he woke up, Pete was asleep on the couch with his shoes still on, again. The younger boy made coffee and went back upstairs. When he came back down at noon, Pete was gone again.

\---

"You're not my mother! You can't tell me what to do!"

"I didn't realize I had to give birth to you to care about you!"

"Well, care a little fucking less!"

"Fine!"

_"Fine!"_

\---

The phone rang at two in the morning and Patrick didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. "Hey," he said softly. "Can't sleep?"

"No."

He didn't have to be there to see Pete shaking his head, blanket pulled up to his chin, bottom lip sticking out slightly and eyelids heavy with fatigue that wouldn't take anchor. "Anything in particular?"

"Just soft," Pete whispered. 

Patrick sang to him over the phone, slow songs that the older boy wouldn't know. He sang while he got ready for bed and crawled under the blankets and wished there had been another body underneath them, pressed against him. He sang until he heard a little yawn in his ear and a tired voice.

"Love you, 'Trick. Come home soon." The line disconnected and Patrick pressed his lips to the screen in a soft kiss.

\---

The bedroom was a disaster. One corner of the the room couldn't even been seen under the pile of clothes and there was no order to the other corner of the room. Boxes and mail and a maybe a cheap amp sitting underneath all of it? There were water glasses and beer cans littered across the dresser and nightstand. The trash can was full and then some, with takeout containers and more beer cans. Patrick could distinctly smell cigarettes and neither one of them smoked.

Pete was outside, it turned out, sitting on a deck chair underneath the awning and staring hard at nothing. He hadn't shaved in at least four days and he probably hadn't changed his clothes in that long either. He didn't look up when Patrick sat down, didn't move, didn't say anything. His shoulders were hiked nearly up to his ears and his jaw was set. 

Patrick had been gone for two weeks. It didn't feel like two weeks. 

The younger boy opened his mouth to say something, but Pete was already pushing himself up, walking toward the pool in his bare feet and stepping in without a moment's hesitation. He stood there, just his head and shoulders above the water, not looking back. And Patrick couldn't deal with it right then so he went inside to clean up.

\---

Pete felt like fighting. He stomped inside and slammed the door and stomped into the kitchen and poured a shot and another and then stomped upstairs where Patrick was sitting up for him. "You don't really love me!" he stammered out, pointing an unsteady finger at the younger boy and then slamming his fist against the door. He liked it, the way it felt against the bones of his hand.

Patrick shook his head and started gathering up the things he had spread around him on the bed. "You're drunk. Sleep it off."

"You don't love me. You just feel sorry for me!" Pete hit his hand against the door frame that time. It hurt more.

"You pity yourself enough for the both of us," Patrick muttered. He pushed past Pete and locked himself in the guestroom. In the morning, he got a glass of water and a box of crackers and put them on the nightstand next to the other boy.

\---

"Why do you put up with me?" Pete asked. "There can't be anything in this for you. I'm a jerk. I make you cry and I lie and I stay out late and I drink and I don't take my meds right and I'm still crazy when I do. Why do you stay with me?"

Patrick leaned in to kiss him softly on the mouth. He pulled back, eyes soft, as his fingers brushed Pete's hair out of his eyes. "Because you're not like that all the time. You just feel like it. And it's worth it."

"It can't be worth it."

Patrick kissed him again. "One day you'll know you're worth something. And then you'll understand."


End file.
